SOME GOOD, SOME NOT SO GOOD

Photos: Ruth and Joan dine at Taste of Ukraine Restaurant in Edmonton

Last week I did a reading in Winnipeg at McNally Robinson bookstore. For days prior to the reading, they had displays out of my book, had the book on the recommended reading table, had posters all over the store advertising the reading. John, the events coordinator presented me with a masterful introduction, which he had prepared on his own without any input from me. It was just excellent and very flattering and it was clear he had read the entire book. There were about one hundred people at the reading, we sold a lot of books, and overall it was quite successful for everyone.

I am currently in Edmonton where I am supposed to do a reading at Chapters. I had been corresponding there with Sonya, who had approved the poster I had made regarding the reading, and asked me to send her half a dozen posters via snail mail, which I gladly did several months ago.

Joan and I drove into Edmonton, and went directly to the TV station, where Lynda did a very skillful and creative interview. She was quite wonderful and had actually read the entire book. We pitched the reading at Chapters and then went for lunch.

I thought I had best check in with the bookstore. I dialed the number.

Me: "Hello. May I please speak with Sonya?"

A Woman: "Oh, Sonya doesn't work at this store any more. Can I help you?"

Me: "Well, my name is Dr. Ruth Simkin and I am supposed to do a reading at your store this evening."

The woman: "Oh, you are? Well, I'll let you talk to Shannon then. She's busy right now. Can you call back later please?"

Joan and I ate our goma-ai (spinach salad) appetizer and then I redialed.

Me: "Hello, may I please speak with Shannon?"

A Woman: "Just one moment please."

I ate a piece of gari (pickled ginger).

Shannon: "Hello, this is Shannon."

Me: "Hello Shannon. My name is Dr. Ruth Simkin and I am supposed to do a reading at your store tonight."

Shannon: "You are?"

Me: "Yes, I had been dealing with Sonya."

Shannon: "Well, Sonya doesn't work at this store any more."

Me: Yes, I gathered that, but I drove into Edmonton especially for this reading, and have just finished a TV slot talking about it."

Shannon: "Oh. Did you write a book?"

Me: "Yes, I did. Are you not expecting me to do a reading there?"

Shannon: "Well, I see that your name is on the calendar with a question mark beside it but I didn't know what it was for. What is the name of your book?"

Me: "The Jagged Years of Ruthie J. So you are not expecting me?"

Shannon: "Well, we don't have a lot of people around. How many books do you normally sell?"

Me: "I had one hundred people at my reading last week in Winnipeg and sold a lot of books, but they were expecting me and did some advertising in the store."

Shannon: "Oh. Well, how many books are you bringing?"

Me: "Well, how many would you like me to bring?"

The rest of the conversation went downhill even more after that. I was concerned about how things would turn out.

I turned to Joan as we each speared a piece of sashimi.

"Well, if no one comes, we'll just go out for dinner, okay?" Joan smiled kindly.

The thing is that I, not the publishers, not the publicist, but I, the lowly author, pay for these book tours. Joan kindly drove me to Edmonton in her car, but we are staying in a hotel, and need to eat meals, for which I pay. And almost always I don't mind because it is part of marketing the book. I could have saved the cost of the Edmonton trip. I could have even done an extra reading in Calgary - I was asked to do so at the Epilepsy Foundation but had no free evenings. This could have been a successful evening in Calgary instead of a bust in Edmonton.

So it was with some trepidation that I showed up at Chapters. But I have to say that Shannon turned out to be terrific. She just could not do enough for us, and was encouraging and supportive. The trouble was that no one knew I was coming. One woman, Rose, a very young looking 84 year old, came down to the store after she had seen me on TV. She wanted to hear what I had to say in person. Because at the time no one else was around, Joan and I took Rose for coffee (there was an adjacent Starbucks in Chapters) and to Shannon's credit, Chapters bought our coffee. We chatted for about twenty minutes or so, and then Luke, a twelve year old boy showed up to buy a book for his mother. They also had seen the TV news this evening. The only two sales and the only two people who came were a result of the TV show. Much to Shannon's and Chapter's credit, they took twelve books to sell and Shannon was very encouraging and helpful. What could have turned out to be a bitter experience was saved by her professionalism and her enthusiasm and support.

After Rose and Luke left, it was time for Joan and I to go for dinner and a big drink. Since we were in Edmonton, of course we went to Taste of Ukraine Restaurant. We started the meal with caviar on blinis and shots of vodka, and things just got better after that. We had cabbage rolls and cherry ribs and cheese crepes and perogies, and more vodka drinks and prawns and a little more vodka and caramel baked apple in crepes with ice cream for desert and a little more vodka. We had a most wonderful waiter and it was a great meal!. In the morning, we return to Calgary. Life is still pretty darn good.

SO MANY HOMES

So many homes. Victoria is my home because I live there now. Winnipeg is my home because I was born and grew up there. Calgary is my home because I spent twenty-two years, almost a quarter of a century, working during my adult life here and participating in the Calgary community. Of all my three homes, I probably know the greatest number of people here in Calgary. It was in Calgary that I became a doctor, worked hard as a physician, played hard as a party animal, fell in love, had my heart broken, went to meetings, stuffed envelopes, organized conferences, helped build theatres, sat on arts boards, was honoured with a woman of the year award, another Speak Sebastian award for gay and lesbian political work, hiked in the mountains regularly, knocked on doors with politicians, argued with elected officials, opened a hologram gallery (Western Canada's first) opened Canada's first PMS clinic, was involved with sports, was physician to a Canadian championship softball team, had Stampede parties, well, had a lot of parties in general, built "The Fence" in protest of urban sprawl, had loads of dinner parties - in other words, I had a very full life here. So it was with much excitement and anticipation that I have now returned after far too long of being away to do a reading.

Where to stay? Well, the obvious choice was to stay with my friends Joan and Renate. Joan was one of the first people I ever met in Calgary. I had gone to a softball game with a friend, Joan was the coach, she looked up at me in disbelief from the field as I sat in the stands reading a book totally ignoring the action on the infield and a very long friendship was born. She is one of my oldest and dearest friends. For years we lived in the same house, shared the same friends, went through periods of joy and grief and more joy together, and we know and love each other well. Renate has been in Joan's life for seventeen years now and although I haven't known her quite as long as Joanie, seventeen years is certainly long enough to love her.

Another one of my oldest friends in Calgary is Carolyn who joined me for dinner the other night. Now I might have lied when I wrote the other day that Winnipeg was the only city with food memories. I hadn't really remembered Kam Han, where Carolyn and I, often joined with other friends, ate almost weekly for years. We recreated our usual menu from the past of hot and sour soup, salt and pepper seafood, ginger fried beef, and szechuan eggplant as we talked, reconnected and generally enjoyed each other. The food was as good as I remembered. And Carolyn was even better, which is going some.

And then there is Marlene. Calgary will always mean Marlene to me. I first met her when I was a medical student and she was a nurse working for the doctor who was to become my preceptor. We became fast friends and she worked with me as a nurse throughout my entire residency. As soon as I opened a practice, Marlene joined me and worked together with me for as long as I remained in Calgary. I could not imagine a better nurse and friend than Marlene. All those patients who thought I was a good doctor never realized that it was Marlene who made me look good, whispering relevant information in my ear just before I was to see a patient. She was great at holding patients' hands literally and figuratively, always doing exactly the most appropriate thing that was needed for them and for me. She could not have been any better in her job, and I benefited by that. I love Marlene more than I can say. Our long dinner reminiscing over many pots of tea was wonderful. We laughed, we grinned at each other, we remembered. The thing I adore about Marlene is that she loves life as much as I do. We are both basically happy people who love most other people. Marlene is still working, and I must say, I am a bit envious of those for whom she works, she is that good.

Virtually every meal, every coffee break time for the whole time that I am in Calgary, I am being joined by a different person who was important in my life. I feel as though I am the most blessed person in the world, to have so many stellar friends, who still love talking and laughing and loving and living.

Part of this trip is to do readings of course, not just visit and reminisce about the past. Tomorrow Joan and I head out to Edmonton, where I will be reading at Chapter's Bookstore. We will stay overnight, then drive back for the Calgary reading. At the risk of being monotonous, life is very good.

ON BEING JEWISH ON YOM KIPPUR

There is no time during the year that I feel so positively Jewish as the twenty-five hours starting the eve of Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. That evening, we go to the synagogue for the service called Kol Nidre, (need-ray) named after the song, a declaration actually, sung at the onset of the service. Kol Nidre means "all our vows". There are as many versions of Kol Nidre as there are synagogues in the world, yet every single one of them has a familiarity to anyone who has grown up in the synagogue, any synagogue. In my synagogue in Victoria, usually the rabbi sings Kol Nidre. Here in Winnipeg, the female hazzan (cantor) and a large choir, sing it together. But the melody and the words are always the same, a haunting, soulful, familiar, deep down in your gut kind of melody; those words of Kol Nidre begin the twenty-five plus hours of Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish year.

Yom Kippur is a time of introspection, of asking forgiveness for any transgressions we have made over the year, to others, to God, to ourselves. We fast, from before sundown the eve of Kol Nidre, to after sunset the next day, when the shofar blows and we all leave the synagogue to go somewhere to break the fast. During those twenty-five hours, we ask forgiveness of God and others for all the ways we may have screwed up in the past year.

If truth be told, the religious prayers and some of the rituals don't really mean that much to me. But of all the Jewish holidays, Yom Kippur is one of the most important days for me. It is the time every year that I have put aside to think seriously about my life. I recall how I may have hurt others, knowingly or unknowingly, and if I can, I ask them to forgive me. I try to figure out what my life will be like during the coming year. I think about ways I can be a better person. I use the time as one of deep reflection, of atonement, of forgiving myself, of hope for a better year. This is when I get serious about myself, with no illusions, strip myself bare, admit to my shortcomings and attempt to figure out how to overcome them. During Yom Kippur, we also take time to remember the dead; not only our loved ones, but the six million lost in the holocaust and other wars. It is a sad, somber, serious day, yet one, I feel, that is full of hope - hope for the future of being the best kind of person I can be.

I sat in the synagogue in Winnipeg during Kol Nidre, this synagogue where I had my bat mitzvah when I was thirteen, where I got married when I was eighteen, where I grew up and spent most week-ends as a child and teenager, and I reconnected with my past. I closed my eyes and I could feel my mother sitting quitely beside me, my father to her left, wrapped in his tallit (prayer shawl), machzor (prayer book) in his hands. I could hear my Uncle Saul and Uncle Jim chanting the prayers, could see my Auntie Jen and Auntie Clara sitting with their families, smiling serenely, watching my grandmother sitting in her corner of the pew, surrounded by all her children and grandchildren and eventually great-grandchildren. All my relatives were there tonight, the very same ones whose graves I had visited in the morning. All of them are part of my life forever, and I need just close my eyes in my old synagogue to bring them back.

Many living relatives were there too, of course. The patriarch of our family, Uncle Abe, sat behind us with his son and daughter-in-law. Many cousins were there - we filled two whole rows. This synagogue is very different from the one I belong to in Victoria. The Winnipeg synagogue seats almost 1500 people, 1,490 to be exact, which is much larger than my Victoria shul (synagogue) of several hundred. The Winnipeg synagogue has Cantor Tracy and a choir; in Victoria, the congregation does most of the singing, certainly not as beautiful as Cantor Tracy but very heartfelt indeed. Both places have their own unique flavour and I enjoy being in each one of them.

The morning after Kol Nidre found the whole family in shul, probably a little earlier than many normally would have been there, because Uncle Abe had been given the honour of reading the Torah portion for the morning. He had two rows of a personal family cheering section and he did an amazing job, singing out the Hebrew in a loud clear voice. Everyone in the synagogue listened intently to him. I was so proud that he is my uncle. Of course, I am always proud of him anyway.

Hours passed, people left. I wanted to stay for all of it. I like to think. I hold the prayer book in my hands, and I always know where we are in the book. I am still able to follow along with the Hebrew. But I think. I think of those I may have hurt in the past year. I plan how I am going to rectify certain wrongs I've done to friends, what I will say to them. I think about who is important in my life, and what I need to do to keep them there. It is a powerful day for me, one I cherish.

At the end of the evening services at the synagogue, we all gathered at my cousins Sharron's and Joel's home to break the fast. And what a break fast it was, for me in particular. I had not eaten wheat, desserts, bread, and so forth for three years until this week. Winnipeg is full of so many food memories for me. I had a most wonderful time. It felt good to fast, and it felt equally good to taste bobka and cinnamon rolls, gefilte fish, eggplant, egg spread on challah bread, lockshen kugel, honey cake and on and on. All my Jewish food memories came flooding back and it was marvelous. And so far, for those following this, the HCG seems to be holding. I have eaten gently, that is, not totally pigged out, but have partaken of all the above plus more this week, and so far, have not gained any weight and my clothes still fit just fine. I had been a little worried to try this - I don't think I actually believed that one could in fact eat normally without gaining weight, but now I experience that to be true. I think as long as one eats in moderation, then life after HCG can be pretty terrific. Stay tuned. I won't lie about it, and will let you all know what happens during these six weeks on the road. I think Winnipeg is the only city associated with so many food memories, and I had many Jewish goodies flooding to the forefront of my mind and subsequently my tastebuds as they entered my body, nourishing me in a particular way that only true Jewish food can do. Life is good.

RECONNECTING

Photo: Basketball team some fifty years later.

In the morning I had coffee with a wonderful woman, Ethel, with whom I went to school in kindergarden and grades 1 through seven. Then we reconnected again in university. Although throughout the years we haven't seen much of each other, I have always kept her in my thoughts. I wasn't a very happy kid in school, and at times, got into fights with other kids. Ethel was always so nice to me. She was kind and intelligent; one of my favourite people in school. I liked her a lot and always felt safe with her. Now, more than sixty years after we first met, we sat on the sofa and talked with each other about our lives and caught up just a bit - not nearly enough though. I also got to visit with her cousin Donna whom I remember from the 1950's. What a pleasure the morning was! It's visits like this that make writing the book and doing these book tours more than worth any effort.

The afternoon was spent with my old basketball team. What a cool reunion that was. We talked about the time we travelled to Edmonton by train to play basketball, and while on the train, perhaps had a tad too much to drink, kidnapped the conductor, locked him in our room and took his pants off. Susan walked around the train wearing his cap, waving his pants over her head. He was not amused, but we certainly were. Then there was the Vancouver trip, where we lowered bedsheets out the second story window of the hotel to hoist up rocks to hide in a girl's suitcase. It was a mean trick. We almost broke a huge plate glass window at the Sylvia hotel in the process. And then Susan, always it was Susan, never me - I was innocent, Susan threw all my clothes out the hotel window onto the lawn. Oh yeah, we did manage to play the odd basketball game as well.

A few of the women brought photos from those days. They were wonderful to look at! The other night at the book reading some of the women actually remembered their basketball number, but I couldn't remember mine. Then I saw it on my uniform in an old photo - I was number 33. Not that it ever got much action on the floor. At night and getting into trouble, yep, 33 was always there. The neatest thing now about my old basketball team is that many of the women now enjoy talking about their grandchildren. I love that. And I love how we can reconnect in such a profoundly personal way, really, after not having seen each other (some of us) for fifty years.

At night, I reconnected with some wonderful cousins who made a marvelous dinner party for me. It was a perfect evening - beautiful home, excellent food, fantastic company and conversation. I'm so grateful to everyone for making me feel so welcome on this tour. And it is only just beginning.

And what a beginning it is becoming. I got a congratulatory email from McNally Robinson Booksellers with their list of Winnipeg Bestsellers for the week of September 12 - and there under paperback non-fiction, in the number five position, was The Jagged Years of Ruthie J, by me. I was blown away - I've never been on a bestsellers list before, and it was quite the high. Even to be mentioned on the same page as Lisbeth Salander was a great high. For those of you unfamiliar with her - I am a huge fan of Stieg Larsson's trilogy of wonderful novels, of which Lisbeth is one of the main characters. But I digress. I'm sure the sales at the reading put me onto this list, and that's fine - it's a wonderful feeling to see my name on that list of bestsellers.

ON TURNING ONE HUNDRED

My Auntie Jen turned one hundred years old today. On display in her hallway are congratulatory letters from the Queen, the Prime Minister, the Governor General, Premier of Manitoba and Mayor of Winnipeg, all nicely framed and wishing her appropriate one hundred year birthday wishes.

My Auntie Jen is the oldest of six siblings. Only one other is still alive, the youngest, my Uncle Abe. My dad was one of her brothers. Uncle Abe is 88 years old. He is one the sharpest most astute people of any age that I know. He never stops - he is always working on something, trying something new - I think I am a lot like him in that way. Except he is way smarter.

We went to visit Auntie Jen today, my cousin Em, Jen's daughter, and myself. Auntie Jen was in fine fettle. Her cognition is not exactly perspicacious but she seems happy enough. She spoke today in four languages, five if we count gibberish. She always wants to do more, a reflection of a life lived in hard toil and labour dedicated to others. I think she is frustrated that she finds herself to be one hundred years old, sitting on a chair and unable to run around doing things for people. When she realized she was 93 years old, seven years ago, she turned to her son Jerry and said: "I'm too young to be that old." Indeed.

Her younger brother by some twelve years has not lost any of his cognition. In fact, he seems to gain some as he gets older, appearing smarter, sharper and more with it with each year. He is such a total inspiration. He is my dad's younger brother, and I know why my dad loved him so much. The older I become, the more precious my family is to me. I do not want to ever lose them. They are a part of who I am. And once more I give thanks for being part of this family that has in it people like Uncle Abe and my one hundred year old Auntie Jen.

THE WINNIPEG READING

The day started off with a very early live TV appearance. The crew and Brian, the interviewer (and news anchor) were just great and we had loads of fun. Brian wanted to concentrate on the fact that Winnipeg had been my home so we talked a fair bit about this city of my youth and family.

I've noticed an interesting trend. When I did my US tour, a lot of people asked me about epilepsy, and my personal experience at the hospital. Of course. But now, the last few interviews have been about personal secrets - revealing them or not. I believe that if people can talk about experiences such as being a mental patient, or having a disease like epilepsy, it ultimately makes our lives much easier and even more importantly, demystifies these things and normalizes them more. So many of us have these secrets in our lives, and talking about them can definitely make our lives and those of others, much freer. So many people have confided to me that they too were in a mental hospital but nobody knew about it. And it is very freeing to tell someone about the experience.

So the Winnipeg reading. Why was this reading different than any other reading? Probably because it was Winnipeg, home to a huge family and loads of good friends. The book store has a lovely restaurant in one corner, and the evening started off with dinner there first. There were about fourteen at our table, another table of eight of my cousins and tons more tables of friends and relatives who had come to the reading.

The reading itself was very successful. John the event organizer, told me that they usually had 30 - 40 people at a reading. I had more than twice that number there, and he said it was one of their largest ever. I was quite honoured. I have to admit it was a very special feeling to read looking over an audience of relatives and old friends. Even my basketball team (from the 1960's) was out in full force and seeing their faces there was just so great!

My relatives are particularly very special and I feel so privileged to be part of this family. They couldn't possibly be more supportive than they are and their love just permeates the room. It was quite the high. After the reading was over, and I had signed the bulk of the books I was to sign, my Uncle Abe came over to me. He very tenderly cradled my face in his hands, gave me a gentle kiss and said: "I am so proud of you, sweetheart." Those words were music to my ears, they meant everything to me. "I am so proud of you, sweetheart." He was the emissary from my parents and all my other relatives who had gone before. I thought my heart might burst with pride and love. Things did turn out all right after all.

It was a most wonderful beginning to my Canadian book tour. We're off to a good start.

ON THE ROAD AGAIN

Photo: The Golden Boy atop the legislative buildings in downtown Winnipeg.

Today is Day One of my Canadian book tour. I am in Winnipeg, where my first reading will be tomorrow evening. Winnipeg: the city in which I was born, grew up, went to high school and university; Winnipeg: the city where my grandparents and parents are buried; Winnipeg: the city full of memories of happy and not-so-happy times. But what Winnipeg means to me more than anything is family. I have an unusually large family and when I was growing up, we all lived in Winnipeg and celebrated holidays and family events together. We lived next door to each other - and with all three moves during my time in Winnipeg, we always lived next door to our relatives. My extended family is very close to me. Now, some fifty years later, many of us have moved and live in other places, but I still have many cousins, aunts and uncles that have remained here.

One of the best things about these book tours is reconnecting with people and places from my past. It is such a gift to be able to see people I have not seen for a long time, for whom I care about and miss in my life, and be able to reconnect and talk as though all the many years have not interceded.

On my way to a TV interview, my cousin Ruthy and I stopped in front of a house on Stella Avenue.

"I think this is the house," she said.

"Naw, it can't be. It looks too nice," I responded. We went up and back with her saying she thought it was the house and my saying I thought it looked too nice. A man standing in the front yard watched us with interest and then walked over to the car.

"Excuse us," we both chirped, "we think we used to live here."

"Well, was it more than thirty years ago?"

"It was more than sixty years ago," I answered.

"Who was the family?" he asked.

"Simkins," I answered.

"Oh yes, I knew them. I often wondered what happened to them."

We chatted for a while, and he told us how he had put new siding on the outside.

"The outside is very different," he explained, "but the inside is pretty much the same."

And that was the house in which I was born. Behind the house was a tiny garage where my uncle Abe had told us they used to park four trucks. I couldn't imagine getting one truck in there, much less four. My parents were married in that back yard. And I lived in that house until I was almost six.

Ruthy and I drove on to Grant Park Mall which houses McNally Robinson Book Store where the reading will be. I had a TV interview there on location. The bookstore is huge, and as I walked in, I was very pleasantly surprised to see a whole table with my books on display, and everywhere I looked, there were beautiful posters advertising the reading. John, my contact from the store, told me they had been getting a lot of calls about it, and so I am very much looking forward to the reading tomorrow. Stay tuned.

It's good to be home.